Unfortunate
by Ham Atom
Summary: Everybody's got a past. Dillon might not remember his, but he knows everyone has one. Even Ziggy Grover. A friendship story.
1. Chapter 1

Sequel to the story "Kind of by Accident." Set between episodes "Handshake" and "Ranger Green."

Everybody's got a past. Dillon might not remember his, but he knows everyone has one. Even Ziggy Grover.

This story is being posted in direct response to** UnpredictablyRandomOne** going through and submitting sweet reviews to every chapter of my two other RPM stories. I thought it was just too sweet. Been working on this for awhile. Can't promise the updates will come as swiftly as I'd like, but hey. That kind of unpredictably random drive-by reviewing just can't go unnoticed. ; ) Thanks, friend. More bromance. As per your request.

* * *

Chapter 1

"Isn't this sort of stupid?"

Dillon hid a grin as he glanced over to Ziggy's side of the room where the younger boy was leaning over his desk, glaring at the how-to page on the computer monitor and trying—and failing—to get the knot right on his black necktie. "The press meeting or the tie?"

"Um…yes?"

"Yes," Dillon agreed. Dr. K had informed them they'd be holding a press conference to share with the general public their progress and current state of affairs, which included introducing the brand new Rangers Green and Black. And yes, she'd _informed_ them, which meant she didn't allow any input or objections which meant Dillon was annoyed just on principle. He didn't sign up to play smiling politician, promising everybody everything would be just fine. And while yeah, technically he wouldn't be required to _say_ anything, the whole thing still got under his skin. He had no intention of smiling nice for the cameras. Surprisingly enough, Ziggy seemed just as reluctant as he was. Would've thought the kid would be all for basking in the limelight.

"Ow." _Thump._

Dillon rolled his eyes and finally sat up on his bed, swinging his legs over the side so he could fully face his roommate. "Ziggy, what are you _doing_?" he finally asked, part exasperation, part genuine curiosity.

"These diagrams are really confusing!" Ziggy gestured wildly at his computer screen with the hand that wasn't currently…_What the?_...how'd the kid manage to get his finger caught in the stupid thing? "I hate ties, and I hate TV cameras, and I hate the rain, and I hate _everything_!" He finally yanked his finger free and stood there panting and glaring and outraged. His hair was standing on end, and his white shirttails were untucked, and he looked way more like a pouting ten year old than a solid and capable Ranger. Dillon figured it probably wouldn't be real helpful to point that out.

Clenching his jaw to keep the laughter from showing, Dillon raised an eyebrow. "You hate the rain? How do you hate rain?" There was rain scheduled off and on for most of the week. Apparently there had been some glitch in the weather system, and it had taken a couple weeks to fix it, which had meant no rain. People were getting itchy because their sod lawns were getting brown and crispy, and their azaleas were drooping. _Take a people out of an uninhabitable desert wasteland and put them up in a picturesque dome, and still someone'll complain about something. How does that happen?_

"Mmm…practice?" Ziggy was tugging on the tie again. Not even really trying to tie it. Just tugging. Like he was trying to punish it.

"It's necessary. You can't hate something that's necessary."

"Yes you can. People do all the time. Like vegetables and public transportation and nine-to-five jobs."

"You like vegetables."

Ziggy stuck his chin up. "I'm evolved."

Dillon finally took pity. He stood and strode forward, motioning with his hands, "Turn around."

Ziggy did not. His eyes widened fractionally, questioning, and there was that faint worry as Dillon got closer that Dillon had already labeled as habit. Dillon was pretty good at ignoring those types of looks. He turned the kid around by the shoulders and pushed him in front of the mirror hanging on the back of the door. Ziggy's worry was immediately covered by annoyance as he took in his own appearance. "So it's not exactly a half Windsor. Sue me." He went to mess with it again, until Dillon swatted his hands away.

"Hold still. Pay attention. This isn't rocket science."

He ignored the look of shock and embarrassment as he reached around and deftly worked on the tie. Kid had done a number on it. Ziggy held very still. Deathly still. When he spoke, it was that tiny, uncertain voice that Dillon hated. "You don't have to…"

"Don't be an idiot." Dillon dismissed the shy and the shame. "Watch. I'm only doing this once." Ziggy went quiet, but at least there was a small, grateful smile. And even if the smile seemed far too grateful for something so small as fixing a stupid tie, at least there wasn't any more of that worrisome worry. "How do you not know how to do this? Weren't you wearing one of these when I met you?" Among the tattered clothes and the one missing shoe he distinctly remembered a tie. Loose and lopsided, maybe, but it was a tie, and it was tied.

"This _is_ the one I was wearing when you met me."

"I thought I threw that out."

"I thought that was an accident." Ziggy looked insulted and accusing for a moment, and it was pretend. He shrugged. "I shouldn't've kept it anyway. It's not exactly…me."

"So why did you? Keep it?"

Another shrug. "It's the only one I have. I didn't know if I'd need it again."

Dillon didn't know what that meant, but he felt himself frown. "So how do you not know how to tie it? It was tied before."

"I wasn't the one who tied it before. Where did _you_ learn to tie a tie?"

A surge of irritation because Dillon didn't _know. _"Probably the same place I learned to drive a car and speak English. I'm done." And if he cinched the tie up a little too tight, well, that was probably an accident. He turned and grabbed his jacket off the back of his desk chair, stalking towards the door without looking back. Annoyed at all things Ziggy and angry at all things not Ziggy, and his watch was in his pocket, and then his hand was in his pocket, his thumb rubbing over the smooth metal. He hated this. Hated not knowing. Every minute of it. How could he know things like how to tie a tie and drive a car and pound Grinders into scrap but not where he came from or who he was? And to make it worse, sometimes he even forgot to remember that he'd forgotten. Sometimes he'd find himself comfortable, just a little, just for a second, and then boom. Just like that. Some stupid reminder that his past had been ripped away from him and that "Dillon" was just a name he'd made up.

He stomped down the stairs in silent fury, thinking about unfairness and that layer of fog that surrounded his memories. Barely noticed Flynn and Summer playing a lazy game of pool until Summer's voice cut through his moment.

"Uh-oh. You've got that look."

"I don't have a look," he shot back without looking at her, and the words were more reflex than anything.

"You do; you've got _that look._" She sounded so smug sometimes. He heard the crack of cue on ball and the thump and rumble of a ball making it into a pocket. "The one that means you're working up a really good brood." Then he heard Flynn's chuckle. Flynn rarely sounded smug. But he also rarely sounded unamused.

"Aye. I'd say she's got you pegged."

"Yeah, well…" And Dillon made the mistake of looking at Ranger Yellow, fixing to fry her with his glare, and instead he found his mouth had gone just a little bit numb. She'd dressed up for the conference, too. He didn't know what he'd expected. But there was a skirt and a jacket, and it was all very professional, and it was all very modest, and the girl couldn't just _not_ be beautiful. Hair half pinned back and still loose around a face that was giving him a funny look like she really couldn't figure out what he was staring at.

"What?"

Dillon had to look away before he could talk. "Nothing. Where's the Doc?" He was still getting used to that little bombshell that had been dropped a couple days ago. That their infamously stodgy mentor was actually an eighteen-year-old girl.

Summer shrugged as Flynn set up for a shot. "I don't know." She countered with "Where's Ziggy?" at the same time Flynn asked "Where's your tie?"

Dr. K wanted all the guys to wear ties. Spouted something about "professionalism" and "being taken seriously." Yeah. Wasn't happening. "I don't do ties." Summer's question he ignored.

"They're not exactly my cup of tea either. But I wouldn't want to be in your shoes when Dr. K sees you not sporting the uniform." Flynn pointedly straightened his own tie. The mechanic looked every bit as uncomfortable as Ziggy had.

"Hey, I wear her spandex. She can keep the tie."

"You wear whose spandex?" Scott breezed into the room, munching an apple and looking perfectly at ease in his _suit._ Guy could pull off business casual. Dillon caught Summer giving Scott the once over, and he hated Scott the seventh of a second before he remembered he wasn't supposed to care who Summer once-overed. "'Cause that's not awkward."

"It isn't spandex." The clipped voice came from the doorway to Dr. K's lab and could only have belonged to Dr. K. "As you well know. The press should be here within the next ten minutes; I suggest you all prepare yourselves." If Dillon didn't know any better, he could've sworn the Doc looked about as enthusiastic about the idea as he was. Hard to tell, though. Not like she ever really looked enthusiastic. "Where is Series Green?" she asked impatiently.

"Upstairs."

"Getting pretty is he?" Flynn teased.

She didn't miss a beat. "I fail to see how that would be possible." If they'd been talking about anyone else, Dillon thought she'd have let the jibe go. But she really seemed not to like the kid. He didn't think he'd heard her say two words to Ziggy since she'd revealed her…true identity. Which was interesting because she was the only female they'd ever come into contact with that Ziggy hadn't called "hot" or "super hot" or "ridiculously freaking hot." Actually, he hadn't heard Ziggy say much to her at all either. Weird.

Doorbell rang, signaling the press piranhas had arrived. Doc K had insisted and the press had agreed that if they were doing this, and they wanted her a part of it, she wasn't leaving the garage, so they'd have to set up the meeting _at_ the garage. They'd curtained off an area for the interview, and nothing else was allowed to be filmed for security reasons, etcetera, etcetera.

Nobody moved for a second. Dr. K pressed her lips together, using one foot to scratch behind her opposite calf, uncharacteristically unsure. "Well, I suppose someone should let them in," she prompted.

"I got it," Scott finally moved.

The rest stood in a small circle. "Well," Flynn shrugged; guy never looked rattled. "Here we go."

"Here we go," Dr. K repeated dutifully. Then she looked at Dillon. "Ranger Series Black, please go retrieve Ranger Series Green."

"Why me?"

The look on her face was like she didn't understand the question. "Pardon?"

"Why don't you go get him?"

She still looked confused—that look he saw when she just couldn't get why other people weren't as smart as her. "You brought him here," she said simply. "Frankly, he's your job."

RPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMR PM

Ziggy looked at himself in the mirror, tie and all—though he'd managed to loosen it quite a bit which helped a lot with the whole breathing thing. White shirt. Black tie. Black pants. He didn't like it. Looked too much like before. He fiddled with his collar a little and practiced looking unbothered. At least Dillon was mad at him. It wasn't so hard to make that happen when he was trying. He felt bad about it. He knew Dillon hated being reminded. But sometimes Dillon asked questions, and since Ziggy had made up his mind not to lie to Dillon anymore unless it was really, _really_ necessary, the only way to make Dillon forget about asking questions was to get him to think about something else, and the only way to get Dillon to think about something else was to make him mad. Ziggy picked at a button on his shirt. Manipulating Dillon was probably wrong. It felt wrong. But sometimes it was just…survival instinct.

And so what if he didn't know how to tie a tie. That wasn't so weird, right? Nobody had ever shown him how. And asking would've been a big mistake. And the tie he had…wasn't like he'd bought it. Man had been passed out drunk in an alley, and _they'd_ told Ziggy he _had_ to have a black tie before he could come back, so he'd slipped it over the man's head, very careful, and he'd cleaned it and never untied it, so he could just keep putting it over his head and cinching it up, and that worked, and no one noticed, and he didn't think Dillon would understand things like _having_ to have a black tie and stealing from drunks.

But Dillon had shown him how. Without being asked. Patient and slow and simple and helping and like it should be expected. Wasn't expected. Ziggy thought he could remember the steps. He didn't want to try it right then just in case, but he thought he could remember for next time.

Ziggy jumped and stood back as the door opened, and there was Dillon. Ziggy fought the urge to apologize. He was supposed to be oblivious, and oblivious people didn't know they should apologize. But somehow Dillon didn't seem mad at him anymore anyway. "Zig. They're waiting for us." Ah. Wow. Good. Dillon didn't ever call him Zig when he was mad at him. It wasn't usually hard to make Dillon mad when he was trying, but the guy never seemed to stay mad as long as anyone else.

"Oh." He swallowed. "Awesome." He did not want to go in front of those cameras. Not like he had stage fright. Please. It was just that going in front of cameras was a bad idea. And there didn't seem to be a thing he could do to stop it. If he said no, people would ask why, and that would lead to more questions he couldn't answer, and it just… Why did everything have to be complicated and difficult? Why?

If he were honest with himself, he was scared. He liked being where he was, being part of a team. He even liked being a Ranger most days so far. He didn't want to leave. Felt like he finally had something, and now he might lose it, and it scared him.

"Yeah. Awesome."

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he could just keep his head down and stay quiet and no one would notice him. He loosened his tie a little more and looked at Dillon. "So…we have to do this thing."

"So they tell me."

"Right…" He looked around, casually observing and not desperate at all. "Window has a fire escape," he noted. Just saying.

Oh, Dillon looked _so _tempted. Hope sparked. "That would be wrong," Ranger Black explained patiently.

"Practically inexcusable," Ziggy agreed.

"We'd have to live with everybody ragging on us all the time…"

"Unbearable."

"Complaining…"

"Oh, yeah."

"Especially Doc K."

"Would not even be worth it."

"Hm. Yeah." Dillon nodded, considering. "Go for pizza?"

"I could deal with pepperoni." And they were both across the room, and Dillon was pushing the window up, and Ziggy thought maybe, just maybe it could all be that easy, and then Summer was behind them like a ninja.

"I'd keep the window down if I were you. Supposed to rain, you know." They both froze at the voice, and Ziggy looked fearfully at Dillon. Wow, she sounded _smug_. "Because I _know_ you two weren't planning on making a break for it."

"Drat," Ziggy said under his breath. "It's the warden."

Dillon pushed away from the window and straightened with a respectable amount of dignity. Slid the window down, and Ziggy winced. So close. "Rain," Dillon said, utterly stoic. "I think I did hear something about that."

"Huh." Ziggy turned a hundred-watt smile on her. "That's news to me. We can still do the interview right? Been looking forward to that for…days. How's my hair? You told them to only film me from the left side, right? And absolutely no fluorescent lighting. Under any circumstances. Washes me out." She didn't look fooled. Maybe a little amused. But not fooled. "I have a fair complexion," he protested.

Summer's smile was butter-cake sweet. "Well, then let's get you into makeup, darling."

She took his arm and Dillon's, and somehow managed to walk all of them forward. Ziggy shot Dillon a look in his panic. Gave a weak laugh. "She's so funny."

"Don't worry. Just the whole city will be watching. They're doing the segment live, you know," Summer needled him.

Real uneasiness settled firmly inside his stomach. He covered it with fake uneasiness. "Mm. Whole city."

"Well, not the whole city," she reflected. "Just the sixty-five percent or so that watch the evening news."

"Oh." He swallowed and managed to smile brightly. "Wait. What percentage is made up of hot single women?"

And that got a laugh from her and a smirk from Dillon, and then Summer switched from teasing him to flirting with Dillon, and that was better for everyone because it made it easier to concentrate on keeping his legs from shaking.

RPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMR PMRPMRPMRPM

Dillon couldn't help but notice a few things about the press conference. First off, the reporters learned pretty quick to keep all questions as far away from Dr. K as possible. After all, it was a live spot, and they only had so much time available. Not that the girl was long-winded, but honestly. Some of the words she used were like half a paragraph long all by themselves. Second, since Doc K was untouchable—and it wouldn't have surprised him even a little if she'd planned it that way—a lot of the attention went to him and Ziggy since they were the unknowns. _Really_ annoying, that's what that was. He'd been told he wouldn't have to say anything, that this wasn't about him.

So when the questions started sounding like, "Ranger Black, I have you listed here as 'Dillon,' with no last name. Could you give us your name please?" and "Ranger Black, it's been reported you broke through the defense line to get into the city. Could you tell us where you came from and why that was necessary?" he figured this could only end badly—mostly for the reporters. But that led to the third thing he noticed. Ziggy. Kid had been all but hiding behind him when the lights went on. But the second the questions headed for Dillon's closely kept secrets, Ziggy stepped up, took Channel Six's microphone right out of the guy's hand, and started making a royal fool of himself.

"Yeah, yeah, it's a whole thing; I've heard this story a million times; heck I was _there_ when he came in. Let's move on to something a little less boring." He sent a careless glance Dillon's way. "No offense." And Dillon carefully did not smile and carefully did not shake his head and carefully said _Thank you_ without saying anything at all. "But anyway, _my_ story starts fourteen years ago, back in one-room schoolhouse with—well, technically my story _starts_ in a hospital in the maternity ward some years before that. _Twenty_-_seven_ _hours_ of labor. My poor mother. I was a lover of the womb. And apparently I had an abnormally round head. Anyway, back to the schoolhouse. The classic sort of place you read about. Smelled of chalk and knowledge and really old computers…" Most of the reporters stood there with their jaws on the floor for a good five minutes while the kid just _talked._ Dr. K looked horrified; Scott looked stunned. Flynn was amused. And Summer…Dillon didn't look at Summer. Didn't want to see any of her knowing looks. Even if knowing looked good on her.

"And one of the most important checkpoints on my journey to becoming a Ranger: being a contestant on The Price is Right. Speaking of…remember to have your pets spayed and neutered. It's the right thing to do. Anyway, it was the showcase showdown, and I told myself, 'Ziggy.' See, I call myself Ziggy in my head because it's my name. 'Ziggy,' said I. 'If you win this, you know what you have to do. You have to _give_ _back_ to the community that has _given you so much_.' And you'll never _guess_ what happened…No, yep, you guessed it. I won _both_ the showcases that day. But did I lose myself in the confetti and the glory? Never. I marched right out to that poor waiting nun…"

Eventually this brave woman in the front row tried to get a word in. "Uh…uh, Ranger Green…"

"In a minute, Sharon; I'm getting to the good part." Dillon was about eighty percent sure Ziggy made that name up on the spot. "So it was a dark and stormy night…"

"Ranger Green. Ziggy Grover. If I may. I do have a question for you."

"Won't there be time for that at the end?" Ziggy said, and maybe Dillon was the only one who heard the nervousness.

"It is the end," she sighed. She had a memo pad in her hand she glanced down at. "Now, I don't have any record here of a Ziggy Grover before you came to Corinth. Is that something you can explain?"

Ziggy shrugged and smiled. "Not…really. We're probably missing a lot of records, aren't we? Things get lost in the shuffle. Happens at the end of the world. And besides…"

"So tell us then. Where _exactly_ do _you_ come in, Ziggy Grover?"

And probably everyone in that room, Dillon included, cringed a little at the open-ended question. Just the kind of opening that by all rights should've set the kid off on another crazy, rambled tangent. But Ziggy froze. Just…stood there. Mouth open. Knuckles going white around that stolen microphone. And the brown eyes went blank, and Dillon had seen that look before, and Dillon didn't know if he could ever not step in when he saw that look.

He stepped forward, tipped the mic in Ziggy's hand toward his own mouth and said, "We don't have time for this story. Trust me. Anything else?"

And all the reporters were scrambling to get their questions heard and answered, and the other teammates were answering and smiling and absorbing attention. Dillon gently pried the microphone from Ziggy's fingers. Nudged him with his shoulder. Ziggy started and looked up at him. And for a second, that kid looked scared. Not anxious or worried. Not stage fright or nerves. Just plain scared. And for all of Ziggy's playing the fool and the coward, Dillon wasn't sure he'd ever seen him scared. Except once.

"Hey," Dillon murmured. "You okay?"

Ziggy's eyes widened just for a moment. Then he snapped out of it. "What? Yeah. Oh, man, did you _see_ her? Wow. Gorgeous. I mean, talk about going weak in the knees. Tell me the truth. Did I look like a total idiot?"

It was a great act. That was part of what concerned him. He looked at Ziggy just long enough to let him know he didn't buy it for a second. "Oh, yeah. Big time."

"Well, that's my life over." It sounded like a lament. Dillon knew better, though. Mostly it was thankfulness.

"Any regrets?"

"Well, I did always want to be on The Price is Right."

Dillon's chuckle was buried in all the clamor of reporters making their closing remarks and camera guys packing up their equipment. A guy with a backwards hat and a Channel 6 t-shirt came up to Dillon and held his hand out with a glare for the mic. Dillon handed it back with a smirk. By that time, Dr. K had retreated back into her lab, probably monitoring everything. Scott and Flynn and Summer were chatting with the reporters, being helpful and good citizens and mostly making sure they were really packing up and leaving instead of taking any opportunity to get an insider scoop on Ranger stuff. It was habit now for Dillon, knowing where all the Ranger team members were in a room at any given time. Hardly knew he did it most of the time. This time his mental tally came up one Ranger short. He glanced up just in time to see Ziggy headed up the stairs toward their room. Kind of double-timing it. Quick little devil.

Honestly, Ziggy was probably just being weird, and nothing was wrong, and Dillon was being overprotective and sort of paranoid, and as he mounted the stairs—much more slowly—he ran the word _idiot_ through his mind a few times. He caught Summer's eyes down below, and she nodded and smiled, and he thought she looked concerned, too. Ziggy might be weird, but it was a certain kind of weird, and the weird he'd been in the press conference was a completely different kind of weird than the weird that was normal. Or—Dillon shook his head—something like that. Still he rolled his eyes at her like she was being overprotective and sort of paranoid.

The door was cracked a little, and Dillon didn't feel like being particularly noticeable as he slowly and silently pushed it open a bit further. He frowned. There was a bag on Ziggy's bed. An open backpack. And the kid was flitting around the room, stuffing some of his few belongings into that bag, and that didn't make any sense and didn't imply anything good. He pushed the door open until it banged against the doorstop. Ziggy jumped a mile, and the deer-in-the-headlights face was quickly scrubbed off, but not quickly enough.

Dillon looked from him to the bag and back a couple times while Ziggy said nothing and fidgeted. "What are you doing?"

"Hm? Nothing. Just…nothing." He winced at the bag and only admitted the obvious because it was obvious. "Well, mostly nothing. Somewhat packing."

"I see you packing. Going on a trip?"

One shoulder hitched in a shrug, and Ziggy was looking at the window and not at Dillon. "Never know. Pays to be prepared, right?"

Dillon tried not to frown. Uneasiness. Trying to sound casual. Joking almost. "You're not, like…running away, are you?"

Ziggy smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Do I _look_ like a small child?"

Sometimes. Yeah. "Okay. So…?"

Ziggy ignored the unasked question completely. "So. What are _you_ doing up here? Shouldn't you still be downstairs rubbing elbows with the press?"

"Shouldn't you?"

"Uh-uh. Way too much tweed down there. Rubbing elbows seemed like a possible fire hazard. One spark, and this whole place could go up."

"Zig. What's the matter with you?" Dillon knew the kid had secrets. The incident at the hospital the time he dislocated his wrist proved it. That was the time Dillon learned that sometimes Ziggy's secrets got the kid beat and nearly killed. That was the time Dillon learned that he really hated Ziggy's secrets.

Ziggy stood very still for a moment, head bowed. Then he started making those goofy internally-warring-with-himself sort of faces. "If…" He stopped abruptly, and it took all Dillon's patience to wait him out. The kid's eyes were wide and unsure and intense but wouldn't quite look at him. "If I tell you something…you don't _have_ to tell any of the others, right? I mean, they don't have to know if it's just something that's…"

"Between me and you. Got it. Spit it out."

"I might have to leave town for a couple days." Kid looked so uncomfortable.

"Leave town? Like _leave town_ leave town? Ziggy, we're in a dome. Out of town usually means dead."

"No, not like…it's just an expression. I mean, I might have to leave _here_. The garage. Ranger stuff. Lay low for a little while. Just till some stuff blows over. Maybe not. I don't know yet."

"Why?"

"I sort of just broadcasted my location to anyone who might be looking for me."

"Who's looking for you?" Dillon felt all the muscles along his neck and shoulders tighten.

"Probably no one. I just don't want to be here if anyone happens to come looking, you know? It'd be awkward. New friends meeting old friends. Two worlds colliding. Someone would end up jealous, and that sort of thing just doesn't sit well with…"

"Ziggy," Dillon cut in, voice low and maybe sharper than it needed to be. He looked around the room. "Who are you talking to?"

"Um…you?"

"Then who's the act for?"

Ziggy's head dropped low, staring at the half-packed bag. "Sorry," he said, quiet and honest. It was unbelievable how rarely the kid could do honest…or quiet. "Dillon…"

"Ah, there you are," Flynn entered with a teasing grin. "No thanks to you, we herded the curious sheep back out to pasture. We were going to celebrate our celebrity status with a brisket and a cold batch of…"

"Don't say it," Ziggy winced, palm covering his eyes. "Flynn, do you hate us all?"

The Scot looked nonplussed. "Say what?"

"You know what."

"Well, I wasn't going to say _haggis_, if that's what you were assuming." Scottish Ranger Blue looked positively insulted. Dillon hid a smile.

Ziggy still looked wary. "You were gonna say…"

"I was _going_ to say _smoothies_."

Ziggy threw up his hands. "Oh, great. Fine. Nobody else realizes that every time you make your little heart-healthy beverages with their unassuming little umbrellas and their innocent berry flavor that _something_ _terrible_ _happens_?"

Flynn's expression turned incredulous. "Name one time!"

"Um, let's see…how about right before that attack by a hoard of Venjix's finest happened? Or right before our first meeting with the lovely Tenaya 7 happened? Or right before…you know…_I_ happened?"

"Baseless superstition," Flynn declared. "But if you feel that way," he patted Ziggy sweetly on the head, "we'll make yours a milkshake." He turned and headed for the door. "Come on then, lads. Either way: brisket."

Dillon clapped Ziggy on the shoulder and started to follow. On his way to the door, he scooped Ziggy's bag off the bed and threw it lightly into the closet.

"Where you going?" Ziggy asked.

"Smoothie."

"What? You're not buying my theory?"

"Maybe I am." And he hardly turned as he tossed over his shoulder, "Maybe I just think that stuff that happened wasn't all bad."

And he heard the stunned pause before there were quick following footsteps, and he felt the shy grin, and good grief, if all it took to inspire loyalty in this kid were a few hardly-kind words, how in the world had he survived this long?

RPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMR PMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPM

Ziggy waited. He was good at waiting. Waiting and hiding. They sort of went hand in hand. So it wasn't hard to lay in bed and pretend he was asleep until he heard Dillon shift into sleep-mode across the room from him. And it wasn't all that hard to wait until Dillon started tossing and turning as the nightmares gripped him. And it wasn't so intolerably hard to stay still when he heard Dillon start awake, gasping and panting and reaching for someone who wasn't there, whose name he didn't know. But when Dillon got up, padded out the door and down the hall toward the stairs in the dark and all alone, still breathing like something _scared _him, that…that was kind of hard. Because usually Ziggy followed. And usually he saw how haunted Dillon looked. And usually they watched TV or worked on the car or sometimes Dillon would teach him something he didn't know about cars or pool or fighting, and sometimes just the not-being-alone was enough to make the hauntedness lessen. But this time Ziggy stayed still. This time Ziggy waited.

He waited until he was sure Dillon was downstairs and far enough away that even his super tech-advanced hearing wouldn't pick up on the rustle of sheets as Ziggy threw the covers off and dressed quickly in the dark. And he held his breath as he slid the window up, even though he knew there wouldn't be a squeak because he'd opened this window a hundred times. And he grabbed his backpack, and it was olive canvas and new and held everything he owned, and everything he owned was new because he'd come to this place with nothing. Except that shredded suit and the tie. Ziggy paused and bit his lip. _I'll be back._ This shouldn't be so hard. It was temporary recon. For the good of the team really. The team. _I'll be back. If…if they let me._ They would, though. They had to let him come back. He was Series Green, and they needed him. Even if they didn't want him, they needed him, and they had no choice, and that was a good thing, right? He took several deep breaths, quiet, and he almost wished Dillon would hear and try to stop him. Almost.

Ziggy shook his head and quickly unzipped his bag, digging around until his hand found that old cheap ugly tie, and he threw it out the window. He wouldn't take that. He didn't need it. He'd never go back to the Scorpions, ever. He'd never be that person again. He'd die first. And mostly he was scared he'd die first.

Out the window was a fifteen foot drop to the ground. But considerably less than a fifteen foot drop to the roof of the delivery van he'd parked there between dinner and the pool tournament Flynn had insisted on. The bag went first. Nothing breakable in it anyway. Then without another thought, Ziggy followed it, landing as softly as he could before dropping to the ground.

He looked back up. The garage really wasn't a pretty building. Plain gray siding with gray concrete and steel underneath. So it really shouldn't feel like he was leaving home. He was Ziggy Grover. He didn't have a home. He drifted and he conned when he had to and he survived. Homes were for people like Summer and Flynn and Scott and Dr. K and even Dillon. Not for him.

From where he stood just off the street, he could see the dim flicker of light from the windows where Dillon was probably on the couch watching something on TV and not seeing it.

Ziggy swallowed. And as he picked up his bag, he turned, and he told himself he didn't care. He didn't care. He did not care. And he walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Sequel to the story "Kind of by Accident." Set between episodes "Handshake" and "Ranger Green."

Everybody's got a past. Dillon might not remember his, but he knows everyone has one. Even Ziggy Grover.

Annnd so it gets darker before it gets lighter.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

It was pure, stupid, undependable luck that Owen saw the TV spot. He didn't even watch the news. Something about it being the end of the world and all. No news was good news, and he'd rather have no news. But it was the middle of the night, and he was on break, and there were the Rangers everyone was always talking about, and he couldn't change the channel. They just looked so young. And yeah, so they weren't much younger than him, but still. They were supposed to be saving the world. He knew _he_ was way too young for that. He knew _he_ didn't even want to think about it.

So Owen sat on the sofa, set his mug on the coffee table in front of him, and watched the screen as a girl who was maybe eighteen rattled off a bunch of words he could barely wrap his head around. His interest was casual. He really just wanted something on the TV while he drank his coffee and made a half-hearted attempt at this week's Sudoku. This was just a normal day. He probably would never have noticed. But then there was this _voice._

_"Yeah, yeah, it's a whole thing; I've heard this story a million times; heck I was there when he came in. Let's move on to…" _

And it brought him back and raised goose bumps on his arms, and it _couldn't be._ He stared at the screen. Where…? There. That kid. That kid in the green shirt. And there was a mess of dark hair and wide brown eyes, and the attitude and the voice and the mannerisms and it had been a long time, but it hadn't been _that _long, and it _couldn't be_…and it _was_.

Owen lurched forward, knocking his forgotten coffee across his forgotten puzzle as he gripped the table tight. He stared at the screen. Watched this ghost keep rambling obliviously on, and each moment in defiance of everything that was a normal day. Owen swallowed and waited for the world to right itself, waited for his brain to tell him he was crazy. It didn't happen. He stumbled to his feet, still staring at that image, trying to comprehend the words. It hadn't been that long. Just…a lifetime ago. And he was so, so _sure._ He shook his head. And he whispered in wonder, "Zig."

RPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPM

Dillon was awake. Seemed like Dillon was always awake. The garage was still as death except for the TV droning quietly in front of him. He didn't even know what was on. Oh, they were replaying their interview from earlier. Yeah. He didn't care.

The edges of his nightmare were sharp enough to cut, but there were no pieces of it solid enough to hold onto. Just feelings of desperation, anger, rage, heartache, loss, and he would've been glad to feel all of those things a hundred times worse if he could just know _why._ If he could just know _what _it was he couldn't remember. _Who_ he couldn't remember. Sometimes it seemed like his past was looming just behind him, huge and dark and terrifying, and the feeling was so acutely intense he would actually turn around to check, and he couldn't even feel stupid about that. It just seemed like it should be _right there._ But there was nothing. And the nothing left him shaking and sweating and angry night after night.

It had been a few hours since he'd got up. Usually Ziggy followed him. The first time Ziggy had shown up, shy and nervous and in over his head and typical and…kind. And he'd yelled at the kid. Like he'd really _yelled_ at him. Woke the others up. And Ziggy had backed away from him and tripped on an abandoned couch cushion, and might've fallen, but Dillon was there, and he reached out and grabbed Ziggy's arm. And Ziggy's other arm had come up immediately to protect himself, and his face was ducked away, and he'd flinched, and he'd just looked so _sure._ Dillon let him go. Immediately. Then the others appeared at the top of the stairs to see what was the matter. And Ziggy's face had got red because he'd been _embarrassed_ of all things. And Dillon…Dillon just felt sick.

The second time was a couple nights after Ziggy had become the Green Ranger and Tenaya 7 had broken his wrist and he'd been beat up and concussed. That was the only time Dillon could remember the shape of his nightmare. There had been Green and a lot of red, and it sure hadn't been Christmas, and that night, he'd gotten Ziggy up, and as soon as he saw those eyes blinking and confused and realized Ziggy really _was _breathing, he asked if Ziggy wanted to help with his car. Was the first thing that came to mind. Ziggy hadn't asked any questions. He just agreed. Even though he was still sore and recovering and none of it made any sense, he agreed. And he'd helped change oil that didn't need changing and ran commentary and got Dillon out of his head and didn't demand explanations that Dillon couldn't give until eventually he passed out sitting against the car's rear driver's side tire. And Dillon was grateful.

After that, when Dillon had a nightmare, Ziggy would show up. Even though Ziggy wasn't like Dillon and needed more sleep than Dillon, he'd show up, and Dillon never told him to go away again. Probably if Dillon was a better person, he'd tell the stupid kid to go and freaking get some sleep. But he let Ziggy stay and he learned how to make coffee.

This time Ziggy hadn't followed. Kid must've been really wiped out. Usually he was a light sleeper. It was amazing, though, how different it was to be awake at three in the morning and alone with his thoughts. Sometimes he hated his thoughts. Hated that his head was stuffed with anxiety and uncertainty, and he should be stronger than this and he should be better than this. And more than anything he should _remember_.

With a sigh, Dillon stood and switched off the TV. The trembling in his hands had long since faded. Usually by this time, Ziggy would be talking less intelligibly than usual and nodding off between sentences. Dillon would resign himself to marching the kid back up to bed, and Dillon would lie down across the room from him and hear him breathing, and usually he'd stare at the ceiling until morning. But sometimes he managed to fall back asleep.

As Dillon made his way to the stairs, something caught his attention. A sound. Soft. Outside, near the building. And probably it was nothing. Then the sudden breaking of glass, loud and all at once and like an explosion, and something hit the floor near where he was, and the room was filling with teargas. The alarms sounded then, blaring, and lights flashing, and there was more glass breaking, and more teargas, and it was getting hard to breathe, and Dillon was starting to see red, and somewhere inside he was grateful.

Whatever was going on, he was about to pound somebody into scrap, and he thought there was a pretty good chance he'd enjoy it.

RPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMR PMRPM

The nicest thing about living in a dome had to be the climate control. It didn't get cold. It didn't get hot. They did a soft, scheduled snow at Christmas, and that was about it as far as extreme weather went. So really sleeping on the streets was a kids' game compared to what it was like…well, compared to what it was like when he was a kid. Ziggy knew these streets well enough. It had been a year since "Robopocalypse" and all the remnants of humanity moving into the biodome known as Corinth, and Ziggy had spent a lot of that year in with the Scorpion cartel which meant there were those odd unavoidable times when he'd screwed something up according to somebody and needed to lay low for a few days. So he and the streets were well enough acquainted.

He told himself it was temporary. He told himself it wasn't like before. And besides, he had a plan, and this was best for everybody, and it was _temporary._ Really if he played it right, he'd only have to sleep outside the one night. And odds were, it was safer in Corinth than it was where he used to live. Fewer people were on the streets. Most of the people who'd made it to Corinth after the Venjix attacks came from money or worked for the government. The few that were poor refugees had housing set up. Really the only people that kept to the streets were the people who did business there. And occasionally Ziggy.

It was pretty quiet as he picked his way toward the middle of the city. He wanted to get some distance between him and the garage. He didn't _think_ the others would spend a lot of time looking for him when they figured out he was gone, but either way, he didn't want to be found just yet. They wouldn't understand, and that was good, but there would be questions, and that was bad.

His footsteps were getting heavier as he walked. He'd gotten really well used to getting to sleep every night someplace safe. Wondered if he was getting soft.

A hand he didn't see snaked out and grabbed him roughly from behind, and next thing he knew, he got swung around, and his face met the brick of a building. The sudden pain just below his eye was surprising but not debilitating, and he was turned around, and there was a guy in front of him, older and unfamiliar, and his hands were on Ziggy, pinning him to the wall, searching through his coat, through his pickets, and Ziggy wanted to scream. Just for a second.

"Where is she?" the man demanded. "Where did you put her; I _know_ you took her hair; you worthless, evil…" The guy was strung out on something and strong, and his face was much too close. "_Where_ _is_ _she_?" There were no right answers. Ziggy fought the panic. A rough hand on his face, on his hair. Ziggy froze, couldn't stop the sound that escaped as the man grabbed his jaw, squeezed tight, and he looked into dead eyes. And the man whispered, "Your face is a raw poison." Ziggy couldn't _move._

"I'll show you where she is, devil," the man said lowly, smiling. And his hand moved, and there was the glint of metal. And it came so fast toward his face.

With a grunt (whimper?), Ziggy caught the man's wrist, and shot out a punch toward the man's throat, and as the man choked and tried to cough and breathe, he let go of Ziggy and the knife fell to the ground. Ziggy only paused to snatch up the blade, and still the man tried to kick at him, tried to shout garbled words, but he was already running. Running as fast as he could run, and he could run, he could run fast. Backpack pounding his back, heart hammering in his chest, he ran, and he didn't know how far or how long, and there was a knife, there was a _knife_ in his hand, and it had been close, it had been _so_ _close_ to his face.

Eventually he stopped being able to breathe, and his vision was blurred, and he didn't know precisely where he was and hardly cared. He stumbled into an alleyway, ducked behind a dumpster, squeezed himself in between the dumpster and the hard, unforgiving brick, and there was a knife in his hand, and he was shaking. It wasn't so cold, and he was shaking and watching the knife, and he thought the shaking wouldn't ever stop. Ziggy shook his head. It was over. It was just a guy. He was fine. It was over. He was fine. No blood. No blood on the knife. Everything was fine.

Ziggy didn't cry. He never cried. It wasn't important. It just wasn't so important, and he wasn't scared, didn't need to be scared; it was over.

He willed the shaking to stop, and it did eventually, of course it did, and his breathing got less loud and short and frightened. And he told himself it wasn't a big deal; this sort of thing happened all the time. Way worse stuff happened. Way worse stuff happened to _him_. He needed to stop being such a child.

He could feel his face swelling where his cheekbone had run into the wall, and it was scraped up, but not bleeding. Nothing to write…home…about. He swallowed. Home. No. No, he was fine. He flexed his hand and wrapped his fingers around the knife handle. Then he crossed his arms and leaned his head back against the wall. He could be fine. He was good at this. And he wasn't miserable, and he certainly wasn't something so stupid and useless as _lonely_. And there was a knife in his hand that a crazy man had wanted to put into his face, and there wasn't any reason in it, and he _wasn't_ thinking about lounging on the couch reading comics with Flynn who almost always laughed at his jokes, and he wasn't thinking about Scott taking the time to teach and drill with him and make him valuable and make him safe, and he wasn't thinking about baking brownies with Summer and how she looked surprised and delighted that he'd wanted to and how _she'd_ started the fight with the flour, and he wasn't thinking about Doc K and how her eyes were always different than anything he'd ever seen. Because that stuff was nice. But he didn't _need_ it. He didn't. What he needed was a little bit of sleep.

He forced his eyes to close and listened to his own breathing, and he hardly meant to, but it was easier when he pretended it was Dillon across the room from him. It was just easier to pretend he was safe and had a home and was in it. It was just easier, that's all.

Ziggy fell asleep. It was maybe an hour after that that it started to rain.

RPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMR PM

Dillon's eyes were burning, and his chest was on fire, and that may have been only partly because of the teargas. He. Was. Ticked.

The garage was a mass of chaos and noise as Flynn and Scott and Summer erupted from their bedrooms, still in their pajamas, coughing and choking on fumes. They didn't waste time. In a moment, they called out the words as best they could and hit their morphers, and Flynn and Scott and Summer became Blue and Red and Yellow.

Summer turned her head his way and spotted him. Shouted, "Are they inside?"

Dillon shook his head. "Nobody got in!"

Scott was already running down the stairs. "Morph, you idiot!"

"I'm fine!" His mechanically enhanced body could deal with teargas. And he really wanted to do this the old fashioned way. Venjix had somehow gotten his troops into the city, and attacked them in their _home_ while they (most of them) slept. Crossed a line. Crossed a major line. He was going to go out there, and he was going to tear them apart, and he was going to enjoy it.

Flynn called, "Where's the Doc?"

Scott gestured toward her lab. "Dillon! Grab her and get her safe! Meet us outside!"

Dillon really wanted to argue. But there was no time, and Scott was right, they needed to get Dr. K out. She didn't have a biosuit like the Rangers to hold off the fumes, and she certainly didn't have the upgrades Dillon had. He ran for the lab, and stopped short. "Summer!" he shouted, before he'd even turned around. She stopped in the doorway and looked back at him. "Find Ziggy!" She nodded once, and he trusted her.

He went to the lab. There was a small figure behind a computer screen, and it had the lab coat and the dark hair, but the face was obscured by a gas mask. Of course it was. Because it was Dr. K.

"Doc! Let's get outta here!"

She waved him off, her voice distorted through the mask but still as stubborn as ever. "Go! I'm fine here! I'm going to vent the garage!" Stubborn, and something else.

"How did they get in the city?"

She looked at him. "They were already here!"

"What…?"

"We're not under the assault of Venjix weaponry!" she shouted, looking straight at him. "We're under assault by _people_!"

_What?_ They were the freaking Rangers. Who would…?

Dillon had a sinking feeling. He pointed at her. "Lock the doors to the lab."

She waved him off again and went back to her monitors. Dillon morphed. Felt the suit, felt the strength, felt the connection. Then he ran. He ran outside. "Summer! Where's Ziggy?"

Outside there were about twenty guys taking on the Rangers, and they were going at it with everything they had. Their weapons were chains and pipes and rebar and anything hard that they could lift and swing, and there was no way they could hope to beat the Rangers, but they _fought_. They fought like they didn't need to beat them. They fought like they were buying time.

She hadn't answered. And he could see Yellow and Blue and Red. No Green. _No, no, no._ "Where's _Ziggy_?"

"I can't find him!"

A guy with massive arms popped out of nowhere on his right, and swung a 2 by 4 at his head, and it broke over his helmet and dazed him just a second. Then he hit the guy, punched him hard in the head. The man backed off but didn't fall, and Dillon thought he'd come in for more, but the man stopped. Shook his head. Turned and started running. Dillon looked around. They were breaking up. They were moving out away from the building. "They're running! Hey, they're running!" Where was Ziggy?

He took off after the massive guy, put on a burst of speed. There was a crack and a pop, and it felt like a sledge hammer slammed into his back. He pitched forward, and landed on the ground, skidding to a halt facedown in the grass. And it took a serious moment to understand what had happened.

"Dillon!" Summer was running toward him, and even in the dark, Dillon's eyes were sharp, and even in the dark, he saw the glint of metal, away on the adjacent roof, and it was pointed at Summer.

"No!" Dillon shouted. "Summer, get down!"

She had reached him, stood over him, and she turned _towards _the danger like she could protect him. And that man was going to shoot her.

All at once, someone else was there, and slammed headlong into the gunman, and they scuffled on the roof, and one of them, just one of them fell. The scream was short.

Scott and Flynn were already over there; Flynn stayed by the one who fell, and Scott was jumping, racing, scrabbling to get up on the roof.

"Help me up," Dillon said urgently.

Summer was on her knees. She'd taken off her helmet. "You got shot," she said gently, and there was something in her voice. Something that _hated_ that he got shot. "I can't tell how…"

"It's not bad." And it wasn't. "Help me up."

She didn't try to argue. She helped him, and once he had his feet under him, it wasn't bad. The pain wasn't anything. They made their way over to Flynn who was kneeling by the fallen man. The man was well-built and young, and his face was smoothed out, and there was blood around his head. His gun had fallen beside him. His gun. This man had a gun. This human man had turned his gun on _them_. That had _never_ happened.

They stood there together around him. It started to rain.

Under the dome, the rain came on and off like a sprinkler. No warning. Just rain falling in large drops, and there were times it seemed beautiful, and there were times nothing did.

Flynn shook his head as the rain gradually soaked him, blinking the water out of his eyes. "He's dead," he said over the sound of falling water, and there was shock in the words. Dillon looked again. It was true. This man was dead.

They were silent for a moment. "What. The _heck_. Just happened?" Dillon demanded lowly.

Summer was already shaking her head. "I don't know."

Flynn looked around. Sounded like he was talking to himself, "Just here. Just here to attack us. And then gone." It didn't make sense.

And Dillon asked again. "Where's Ziggy?" And again, no one had an answer, and none of this made sense.

Scott came around the side of the building then, pulling another man along by the arm. He had dark hair and eyes, mid-20s, about Dillon's height, but a little thicker, and he was struggling. "I'm looking for that kid. The kid who was on TV tonight. Zig. Where is he?" Scott was silent as he marched him up, and the guy was mad. "Would you just freaking _say_ something to me?"

"Who is this?" Scott demanded, gesturing at the man on the ground.

"What, you didn't see that? That's the guy who was about to shoot her down." The man didn't seem sorry. Dillon wasn't sorry either. "I helped you out; you need to help me out. Where's the kid?"

"Who were those men?"

"I _don't_ _know_!"

"Would you…"

"Scott," Dillon cut in with one word. He thought his voice sounded odd. Scott looked at him. "Ziggy's missing."

The man yanked his arm free from Scott's grasp, shook his head, ran his hands through soaked short hair. Angry. "You…you let them _take_ _him_?"

"Who are you?" And Dillon thought his own voice strangely calm. He wasn't calm, shouldn't be calm, _couldn't_ be calm. Why did he feel so heavy? He felt Summer looking at him.

"Owen. Owen Valczhek."

Scott commanded, barely managing to sound contained, "Tell me what you want with Ziggy. Do you know where he is?"

"_No_, I don't know where he is, you moron! If I did, don't you think…" he bit off the rest of his words, fists clenched tight.

"What do you _want_?" Scott asked again, closing in.

The man pushed him away hard. "I don't want anything! I just…you…I was his _brother_!"

There was pain somewhere. Not just his back. There was pain. There was pain in his chest, too. _His brother?_ And Dillon couldn't concentrate; he _needed_ to concentrate. But then his knees buckled, and he never remembered hitting the ground.

RPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMRPMR PM

Ziggy trudged through the rain until he came to the underpass, exhausted and soaked through and shivering. He crawled up behind one of the concrete pillars and sat, hugging his backpack to his chest. He rested his chin on top and sighed so quietly he couldn't hear it over the echo of the rain. Felt his morpher under his sleeve. He was doing the right thing. He was protecting them. It would be over soon. It would be over, and he could go back to that home (but it wasn't permanent) that he didn't need.

He was wet and cold and tired, and he knew he didn't deserve better, but he'd _had_ better, and that just made it harder.

_At least they're safe._ And it was just the tiredness making him sentimental. _This is what Dillon would do,_ he thought surely._ He'd leave to keep the team safe if he had to._ And there was some part of him that knew that if Dillon ever tried, Ziggy would follow. Without even thinking. He wouldn't let Dillon live like this. Dillon deserved better.

He sneezed, and his face was still sore. And even though it was uncomfortable and cold and concrete, he still fell asleep between one thought and the next.

* * *

So yeah. I kind of hate this chapter. It's so _sad. _I torture these poor guys. It'll get happier I think. Way. Anyhow, thanks to those of you who reviewed. UnpredictablyRandomOne, your review was super long and awesome and sweet, and you remain the reason I started posting on this story. Guest, I am assuming you are actor Christopher Guest, and I am honored by your good opinion, dear sir. And ValkyrieNyght, boom. Here's that chapter 2. I did not think I'd get it out this quick, but thanks much, your review inspired me.


End file.
